


repose

by nasa



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Presumed Dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-10 04:05:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17418758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nasa/pseuds/nasa
Summary: Tony pauses with his spoon halfway to his mouth. “Jesus, Barton, I was only out for an hour, chillax.”“An hour? Tony, you’ve been dead for a year!”





	repose

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted anonymously last year in someone's fandom stocking
> 
> yep, I'm doing presumed dead again

On the one year anniversary of his death, Tony Stark strolls into the Avengers kitchen.

For a moment, Clint is sure he’s dreaming. It’s not like Tony’s not on his mind, with Steve around, and the date approaching, and maybe this is just some weird fantasy where Tony comes home safe and sound -

But, no. Clint remembers waking up this morning, remembers everything he’s done so far today, and Tony, upon entry, makes a beeline for a fridge and emerges with Clint’s favorite yogurt. Fantasy Tony wouldn’t do that.

“What the _fuck?”_

Tony rolls his eyes. “It’s just a yogurt, I’ll get you a new one.” He pops the lid and pulls a spoon from the drawer.

Clint closes his eyes for a long moment and opens them again, but nope, Tony’s still there. “Where - where the fuck have you been?”

Tony pauses with his spoon halfway to his mouth. “Jesus, Barton, I was only gone an hour, chillax.”

Clint is pretty sure his eyebrows are in his hairline now. “ _Chillax?_ Jesus Christ, I’ve gone insane. JARVIS, have I gone insane?”

There’s a pause. “I do not believe so, Mr. Barton,” JARVIS says, something tentative and almost hopeful in his tone. “My sensors are perceiving Sir as well.”

Tony, if anything, looks even more confused. “Okay, what the hell,” he says, setting the pudding down. “Is this some sort of weird practical joke? It’s literally been less than an hour -“

“An hour? Tony, you’ve been dead for a year!”

Tony stops. “ _What_?”

“A year ago today you and went out for coffee and a bomb exploded! Everything in the area was incinerated, you were - you were dead.”

Tony is pale. “Clint, what year is it?”

“2017, asshole!”

“No,” Tony says, shaking his head, “No, that’s not true, it’s May 14th, 2016, I just went out for coffee - nothing happened, I mean - there was, a moment, I bumped into this weird lady and my vision blacked out for a second, but then it came back, and she was gone, and I was fine -“

“Tony,” Clint says gently, even though his mind is reeling. “It’s 2017. I don’t know how you managed to accidentally transport a year in the future, but you must have done it right before the explosion because - because we’ve thought you were dead. For a year.”

For a moment, Tony just opens and closes his mouth wordlessly, like a fish. Then something occurs to him, and he gets even paler, though a moment earlier Clint wouldn’t have said it was possible.

“Oh my God,” he says. “ _Steve.”_

-

Clint clears his throat when he steps into the living room, and everyone’s eyes rise to meet his. “Cap,” he says, jerking his head behind him towards the kitchen. “Could you come with me for a second?”

Steve frowns but stands, setting his tablet down beside him. “Something wrong?” he asks, as he follows Clint down the hallway. Behind him, Clint hears JARVIS make an announcement for all the Avengers to gather in the living room - all except Steve. From the way Steve frowns and glances behind him, he doesn’t miss it either, but Clint keeps walking resolutely forward and Steve follows.

“Okay,” Clint says, pausing in front of the door. “I don’t want you to go in there completely unprepared, so a few things I need to tell you: it’s not his fault. He didn’t know what happened, he thinks he’s only been gone an hour. Second thing: he’s completely fine. Please don’t break him.”

“Clint -“ Steve starts, brow furrowed.

“Steve,” Clint interrupts, laying a hand on Steve’s forearm. “I’m going to be right out here if you need anything. But I need you to remember what I said, okay? It’s not his fault. And he’s totally fine. And I had JARVIS check - it’s him. Not a life model decoy.”

“Clint -“ Steve starts, then stops himself. 

Clint pats him on the arm. “Go on, then,” he says. 

Steve looks trepidatious, but pushes the door open anyway. Clint knows the moment he’s spotted Tony because he goes completely still; Clint’s sure his face’s white.

“ _Tony?”_ he croaks eventually, and takes another step forward, letting the door swing shut behind him. 

Clint settles in in front of the door to wait.

-

The first thing Steve thinks when he sees Tony is, _this is a dream._

He’s had them, before. Especially the first few weeks after Tony died. He’d go to bed and dream that he was home with Tony, that Tony had magically arrived back to him, and everything was fine now. It made it all the more painful when he woke up to an empty room and a cold bed that smelled less and less like Tony every day.

So when he sees Tony, he thinks, _dream._ But then he thinks again, and he realizes that, no, he’s awake - because he can remember how he got here, can remember every painful detail of the day up until now, and nothing was out of the ordinary. He’s not just leaping into the narrative, here, it just - is.

“Tony?” he hears himself say, from what feels like miles away.

Tony smiles at him, weakly, from the other side of the room. “Hey, sweetheart,” he says. “I heard I’ve been gone a while.”

He looks - god, he looks exactly like he did the last time Steve ever saw him, the morning he went out for coffee and never came back. He’s got the same jeans on, the same AC/DC t-shirt, and his goatee is getting a little scruffy on the edges, but he looks - good. _God,_ he looks perfect, he looks safe and and unharmed and _like Tony._

“What -“ Steve starts, then has to swallow hard around the lump in his throat. “How?”

Tony shrugs a bit. “I don’t know. I think something magic, because I don’t remember anything weird happening. I was out getting coffee, and some lady bumped into me, and I blacked out for a second, but then I was back, and everything was fine, so I don’t -“ He shrugs again, taking a step towards Steve. “Clint says it’s been a year?”

“To the day,” Steve hears himself say. He wants to reach out and touch, to grab Tony’s hips in his hands, and bury his face in Tony’s neck and to know, to _know_ that this is real, except another part of him doesn’t want to touch him in case he turns out to be a ghost. And another part of him is too shocked to do anything but stand there and stammer.

“Maybe you should sit down,” Tony says, frowning at him. “You’re looking really pale. Here, let me get you a glass of water -“

Steve wants to reach out and grab him, tell him to stop, just stop moving, but he can’t make his limbs obey.

Tony fills the glass at the sink, then sets it down on the kitchen table, pulls out a chair. “Here,” he says, and Steve finds himself obeying, sinking heavily into the seat. Tony presses the glass into his hand, and their fingers brush. It feels like an electric jolt, like something hot burning against his skin.

“Drink up,” Tony says, and Steve does. The water is cool against his throat, but does nothing against the hot pressure pressing against his eyelids.

Steve finishes the glass and sets it down. Tony brings his other hand to settle in Steve’s hair. He scratches softly on the nape of Steve’s neck, the way he does sometimes when Steve is falling asleep curled up against Tony and _\- god. God._ Steve thought he’d forgotten that. Steve -

“Let us in!” someone - Jan, maybe - says on the other side of the door. “We want to see him, Clint, come on -“

Someone else pipes up, then someone else, and then the voices are indistinguishable, a mob of people begging to see Tony Stark.

Tony looks startled, but he gets this all the time.

“Let them in, Clint,” Steve says, just loud enough, and there’s a pause while Clint considers, before the door comes flying open.

“ _Tony,”_ Jan says, a shaking hand pressed to her mouth. “It’s really you.”

Tony grins, confident, easy. “Who else would it be?”

“Oh, man, I would kill you if I didn’t know this wasn’t your fault,” Peter says behind him, even as Natasha comes forward and wordlessly hugs him. Tony blinks a few times, but doesn’t stop her.

“Shield brother, you have returned!” Thor booms, adding himself to the hugging pile.

All of the Avengers pile on until Steve loses sight of Tony underneath them. There’s a lot of laughing, manful tears and shrieking, mainly from Jan, and it should make Steve feels joyful. He doesn’t _not_ feel joyful. He doesn’t know what he feels. Everything feels like it’s too much, too much for one brain to deal with, and he can’t seem to get his body under control. He feels out of space, out of time, and can’t stop wondering: _is this a dream?_

His hands are shaking. He presses them against the table, hoping nobody will notice, but Natasha’s shrewd gaze settles on him.

“Guys, I think they need some space,” Natasha says, and everyone quiets. She glances up at Steve’s face, smiling a bit sadly. “They only got a few minutes before we barged in here, so -“

“Actually, you guys can stay, I think maybe we should head up to our room and lie down,” Tony says, and for once, nobody makes any jokes about sex. Steve wonders how bad he must look for them to be censoring themselves like this.

Tony holds out a hand to Steve, smiling. “That okay with you?”

Steve nods, wordlessly, and takes the offered hand, which is warm and callused and solid. 

He feels shaky and weak when he stands, in a way he hasn’t since he was last seriously injured. He wonders if the adrenaline is wearing off, if the shock is really setting in. He doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes as they leave the room, keeping his gaze locked on Tony’s hand in his, pulling him along.

Tony drops his hand when they make it to their room. It makes Steve ache, makes him feel suddenly cold, and he watches Tony as he walks around their room, so comfortable, like he really hasn’t been gone at all.

Tony only pauses once, when he moves to pull back to the covers. “Is this - my sweatshirt?” he asks, and it is - an old MIT shirt Steve has wrapped around the pillow next to him. For the first few weeks, it had smelled like Tony, and for a brief moment every morning, Steve had been able to forget.

Over time it lost it’s smell, but Steve couldn’t quite bring himself to take it off. Something about it felt like giving up.

“Yeah,” Steve says hoarsely. The look Tony gives him is soft, sympathetic, and he doesn’t ask anything else, just steps back and sheds his sweatshirt, his shirt, his jeans. Then he turns towards Steve, the barest hint of a smirk on his lips.

“You want some help, or you want to stay clothed?”

Steve doesn’t respond, just moves to undo his belt, take off his jeans. Tony takes the hem of Steve’s t-shirt and pulls it over his head; for a moment, just a moment, it hurts when Tony falls out of his sight line, but Steve can still hear him, smell him, feel him, right here.

“How about we just lay down for a while, hmm, honey?” Tony asks, hand light on Steve’s wrist. Steve nods wordlessly, and lets Tony guide him to the bed, pull him under the covers.

They end up settled on their backs, holding hands. Tony’s head is resting on the MIT sweatshirt pillow, but it doesn’t look like he minds. In the darkness, his gaze is quiet, breathing calm, as he brushes his thumb over Steve’s knuckles.

“Go ahead and rest, honey,” he says. “You look exhausted. I promise I’ll still be here in the morning.”

 _You can’t make that promise,_ Steve thinks, absurdly, but he doesn’t say that. He’s suddenly exhausted, everything that was keeping him going just falling off in a moment. His eyelids are suddenly heavy, and he feels his breathing start to slow.

His last thought before he drifts off is that, for the first time in months, the room smells like Tony again.

-

Steve wakes up a few hours later to a quiet room.

For a moment, he doesn’t realize anything is wrong; there’s the usual pang, the hollow pull to his gut. Then some part of him remembers the events of the day before, and he shoots up in bed, reaching out for the pillow next to him.

The bed is empty, sheets pulled back. It feels almost warm to the touch, but that could be Steve’s imagination, as could the smell of Tony in the air.

 _It was all a dream,_ Steve thinks, and the realization hits him harder than he expected, harder than any dream has hit him in months. He feels something swelling in his chest, something constricting his throat. _It was all a dream._

The tears come hot and fast, and he buries his face in his hands, trying to breathe around his ragged sobs. _God, Tony._ Is it never going to get better? Is he never going to be able to live a life like he lived before he met Tony Stark, before he married him, before he spent five years happier than he could possibly imagine, and then it was all snatched from him in a moment?

“Steve?” someone asks from the other side of the room, and Steve startles, pressing back against the headboard. It’s not - it can’t be - the figure emerges from the back-lit doorway to the bathroom, and it’s hard to see in the darkness, but Steve can tell - it’s him. It’s Tony. 

“I think I’m going crazy,” Steve hears himself say, and Tony’s expression is hard to read in the darkness, but it looks like his mouth quirks down.

“I promise you’re not. I just needed to go to the bathroom, I must have woken you up when I moved - this isn’t a dream, Steve, this is real -“

And the room does smell like Tony, and this does look like Tony, and Steve is tired of dreaming of having him back but never getting him, but he’s never had a dream like this before, one where he woke up and he was here, and -

 _What if this is real,_ some part of his mind says, and suddenly Steve can think of nothing else.

Steve moves to the side of the bed and reaches a hand towards Tony and Tony crosses the room immediately, taking Steve into his arms and letting Steve hold him too-tight around his hips, resting his forehead beside the arc reactor.

“I’m okay,” Tony says softly, settling his hands on Steve’s shoulders. “I’m okay, and I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

The first sob manages to take Steve by surprise, but once the first one comes, there’s no stopping him. It’s like something inside him has snapped, something sad and empty that calcified after Tony left that he’s now realized has no purpose. 

“That’s it, sweetheart, let it out,” Tony says, soothing, always so soothing, so kind and generous and so perfect to Steve, and it makes him cry harder, burying his face in Tony’s stomach, feeling the heartbeat beneath his skin, _alive, alive, alive._

When he finally manages to stop crying, he feels dried out and tired. He sniffles, and leans back enough to wipe his nose. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I love you, I can’t believe you’re here,” and Tony leans down to kiss his forehead, his cheeks, his lips.

“Don’t be sorry,” Tony says. “I love you, I’m here. Budge over, wanna cuddle?”

Steve lets go of Tony just long enough for him to climb in bed, and then he wraps himself around Tony like an octopus. “Such a cuddleslut,” Tony grumbles, but it’s good natured, and accompanied by Tony lacing his fingers through Steve’s where they rest on Tony’s chest, beside Steve’s dog tags and the wedding ring that always hangs around Tony’s neck. The arc reactor buzzes faintly beneath Steve’s hand; just another thing, more proof that Tony’s alive, and here, and safe.

“God,” Steve hears himself say, “I missed you so much.”

Tony’s grip on Steve’s hand tightens. “I can’t imagine,” he says lowly, “what it must have been like. I mean, god, it’d only been a couple hours since I saw you and I was already missing you.”

Steve presses his eyes closed against the sudden wave of hot tears. “It - was horrible,” he says thickly, even though that has nothing on what it felt like, day in, day out, waking up every morning to a world with no Tony in it, a world where Steve was once again alone.

Dimly he realizes he’s crying again, and Tony must realize it too, because he turns in Steve’s arms, wrapping his arms around Steve’s back and pressing a kiss to his throat. “It’s okay, honey,” he says, “go ahead and cry, it’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve manages after a minute, “I don’t know why I’m crying so much -“

“Probably because this is insanely overwhelming and you’ve been dealing with a horrible situation for a whole year?” Tony suggests, and, _God,_ Steve loves this man, _God,_ he can’t believe he’s in his arms, _God,_ he can’t imagine, suddenly, how he made it all those months without him.

“I love you,” he says, “I love you, I love you, I love you -“

“I know,” Tony murmurs into Steve’s shoulder. “I know, shhh, there you go, darling.”

Eventually, Steve finds it in himself to quiet, though his grip stays trembling and firm around Tony. It might leave bruises, but Tony doesn’t seem to mind. He just nestles close into Steve, rubbing soft circles on his back, his breath ghosting against Steve’s throat.

“I was starting to wonder if I should give you space,” Tony says, a few moments later. “I know it was probably just shock, but you seemed kind of - uncomfortable, with me around.”

“The last thing I want is space right now,” Steve says thickly, and presses a kiss to his shoulder. “If I get - overprotective, I’m sorry, it’s just -”

“Of course,” Tony says, brushing his thumb on Steve’s back. “Jesus, this has to be insanely overwhelming, take all the time you need.”

 _God,_ Steve loves him.

For a long, long moment, they just lay together in the quiet. Time seems tremulous and distant, unimportant to this moment or any others. Tony is here, alive in Steve’s arms, and that is more powerful than any invisible force, more powerful than love, time, gravity.

After a while, Tony breaks the silence, with a cautious clearing of his throat. _He never could stay quiet long,_ Steve thinks, and the thought almost sets him off anew. God, _god,_ this is really Tony, Tony here, Tony home.

“For what it’s worth, I wouldn’t have - minded,” he says carefully. “If you moved on. I understand that I was -“

Steve kisses him before he can say anything else. “You are the love of my life,” he says when he finally pulls back, resting his forehead against Tony’s. “And maybe I should have tried to move on, tried to find someone and feel better. But you are the love of my life. I can’t - I will _never_ be able to move on from you.”

Tony closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. “That’s not healthy,” he says, but his voice cracks halfway through. “God, I love you, Steve, I do, you are the love of my life, too, but if something happened to me - again, I guess - God, I wouldn’t want you to be lonely and unhappy.”

Steve kisses him, once, briefly. “I didn’t wallow, Tony. I mean, maybe for a while. But I kept spending time with everybody, I kept living my life, I didn’t - sink into a dark hole of despair. I mean -“ He pauses, trying to come up with the right words. “I think that’s the most you can ask for. Because I will never be able to get over you, sweetheart, you are -“ Steve stops, shaking his head.

There’s a long moment where neither of them speaks. “I understand,” Tony says finally. “I don’t think I’d ever be able to get over you, either. But you have to promise me you’ll try, okay?”

Steve tightens his grip on Tony, shaking his head before Tony’s even done speaking. “Don’t talk like that,” he says hoarsely, “Don’t talk like you’ll be gone tomorrow, I can’t -“

“That’s not what I meant,” Tony says, “I’m sorry, we can talk about this later, this isn’t the time. I love you, okay? And I’m here for whatever you need.”

“You,” Steve says without thinking. “Just you.”

“Then you’ve got me,” Tony promises, pulling Steve closer, so he can tuck himself around Tony’s warm body.

-

The next morning, when they come out for breakfast, all of the Avengers are waiting, as are Pepper and Rhodey, who hadn’t had a chance to see Tony yesterday.

“Jesus, Tones,” Rhodey exhales when he sees him, something bright burning in his eyes. “I should have known you would never let something so mundane kill you.”

Tony grins and breaks away from Steve to give Rhodey a tight hug, which Rhodey sinks into. Steve feels guilty, suddenly, for keeping Tony to himself - but then he’s already aching at his absence, and Tony is five feet away.

“You should have,” Tony agrees, “I mean, God, how many people have tried and failed to kill me, you need faith, honeybear -“

“Too many,” Pepper sniffs, and Tony pulls her into a hug too. “God, you _asshole._ We were so upset.”

Tony nods, taking it. “I’m sorry,” he says, even though it wasn’t his fault, not at all. “Nice to know you care, at least.”

It manages to make Pepper chuckle even as she wipes at her eyes. “Sit down, you lunatic,” she says, gesturing at the breakfast table. “There’s breakfast.”

“Fabulous,” Tony says, making a beeline for the coffeepot. “Wouldn’t want me to starve right after you got me back -“

A collective wince goes through the kitchen, and Tony pauses in the middle of pouring a mug of coffee. “Too soon?” he asks, and Jan shakes her head, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek. “Too soon,” Tony says, then glances over his shoulder at Steve, raises an eyebrow. “Well, you gonna get some food?”

Steve’s not very hungry, but he gets a few things, mainly healthy stuff he can foist off on Tony when he inevitably gathers only cinnamon rolls and chocolate muffins, and settles in a chair. He’s surprised when Tony, instead of sitting in the other open chair beside him, settles onto Steve’s lap, letting Steve wrap his arms around Tony’s waist and press kisses onto the back of his neck.

“Ugh, Mom and Dad are back at it already,” Peter gripes from the other side of the room, but it’s totally undermined by his bright, beaming smile.

“How long has it been since you ate?” Tony asks, and doesn’t wait for an answer before ripping off a piece of muffin and pressing it back against Steve’s lips. “Come on, big guy, you need the calories.”

Steve considers arguing but it doesn’t seem worth it. Nothing seems worth it to fight with Tony, not anymore. He opens his mouth obediently and swallows the muffin; sweet.

“Ugh, my eyes were not ready to see this,” Peter complains, turning away from Steve and Tony. “Get a room.”

Tony makes a face like he’s pretending to consider. “Well, since this is _my_ Mansion -“

A chorus of groans fills the room. “Not this again,” Jan whines.

Tony grins. “Aw, you guys _missed_ me.”

Rhodey rolls his eyes. “Yeah, asshole. Now eat your damn muffin.”

Tony blows him a quick kiss than breaks off another piece of the pastry for himself. He must find it tasty, because he wiggles contentedly in Steve’s arms. Steve tightens his grip, presses another kiss to Tony’s shoulder. His heart feels light and overfull. Tony is back.

**Author's Note:**

> yes, I never resolved what actually happened, but also, I'm lazy, so


End file.
